


Angoisse

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: Final Fantasy Tactics
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Mistaken Identity, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tinnitus, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:48:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: The crack of a pistol and the smell of gunpowder pull Ramza into a storm of memories that disarms him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Angoisse

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains a graphic and detailed description of a panic attack, written from my own experience, that may trigger some readers.

The movements of Mustadio’s scarred and calloused hands as he handled his pistol spoke of ease of long practice; he loaded powder and shot into the barrel and tamped it down as Ramza observed, fascinated.

“The sound of the shot can be startling up close, and leave a bit of a ringing in the ears afterwards. But I’ve found that it’s less alarming if you’re expecting it.” Mustadio aimed the pistol across the lake. “Are you ready?”

Ramza briefly contemplated sticking his fingers in his ears-- the echoing cracks of Mustadio’s weapon while they fought off Ludovich Baert’s men at Zaland were still fresh in his memory, and he had been hearing them from dozens of yards away. Mustadio seemed to bear the noise without any trouble, however, so he nodded and watched as Mustadio cocked back the hammer and pulled the trigger, resulting in a near-deafening _pop,_ a wisp of smoke, and the sharp, acrid smell of burning gunpowder.

“It’s actually the same mechanism as your flint-and-tinder,” Mustadio said, pulling the pistol back. “The hammer holds a bit of flint and strikes…”

Ramza stood, frozen, unable to speak as Mustadio went on with his explanation. The ringing in his ears, usually quiet enough to ignore save for in the dead of night, had grown louder and louder until it drowned out all other sound, and he suddenly felt as if he were growing smaller inside his own body, looking out at the alien, too-bright world through the holes of a carnival mask.

“Ramza? Ramza. Are you well?” 

Muffled, but growing clearer with each word. Ramza kicked frantically for the surface of his awareness, lungs burning for air. Finally Mustadio put a hand on his shoulder and the world slammed back into focus, leaving him blinking with the shock of it. “Beg pardon?”

“I said, are you well?” Mustadio had already holstered his weapon and had crossed the gap between them, concerned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I-- no, I-- I’m afraid my mind wandered for a moment,” Ramza said, forcing a laugh. “I-- worry for the Princess, she isn’t used to this sort of rough travel. We’ve come far today, and on foot, and I… she must be…” he trailed off, struggling to concentrate. 

Mustadio gave him a skeptical look, but said, “I’ll go and see if her Highness and Lady Agrias have need of anything. Perhaps you ought to stay here a while and catch your breath; I think you let your worries overwhelm you too often.”

“That’s probably true,” Ramza agreed, flashing a weak smile, and watched as Mustadio turned and made his way back between the pines that crowded the edge of the shore. 

Ramza looked back out toward the lake, trying to follow Mustadio’s advice and take a few even breaths to calm himself. But abruptly the tingling in his arms and legs turned into a sickly trembling, and his chest was squeezed as if in a vice, forcing the air from his lungs. He stumbled, lost his balance, and fell to his hands and knees in the sand, mouth open, struggling to get enough breath to call out for help. Something was happening to him, he had been poisoned, he--

His breath came back in a hoarse gasp, then another, and another, until his head ached with it. He was deafened, his surroundings obscured by smoke, the stink of gunpowder in his nostrils again, the crackle of flames drawing closer. He drew another breath and choked on it, clawing at his breastplate to try to loosen it, succeeding only in crashing face down into the sand, grit clinging to his lips and eyelashes.

Blood in the snow. Argath laying motionless, eyes staring at the pearl-gray sky, tears frozen on his cheeks. Delita’s howl of anguish-- or had that been Ramza, twisting his fingers into the charred remnants of his family’s crest and tearing it free, then as now laying helpless and gasping as the ringing in his ears grew to an agonizing pitch, the last scream of a girl with an arrow in her breast, stretching on forever.

A cool, soft hand touched his cheek, dislodging some of the sand that had stuck there. He was lifted up, enough to get to his knees. Those hands brushed his hair back from his face, wiped clean his nose and mouth. “It’s alright,” someone said. A gentle voice; a familiar one. “Breathe slowly. It will pass.”

Ramza, vision still clouded, reached out blindly and his hands were taken in someone else’s, clasped together and squeezed. The sensation seemed to draw him out of the tangled mess of his memories and the sudden shock of stumbling free released the pressure in his chest all at once, resulting in a torrent of relieved and frightened tears. He was pulled forward, arms encircling him, and he sobbed like a child against someone’s breast while they stroked his hair and murmured soft reassurances. 

He was held long after his tears had stopped; they dried on his cheeks and beneath his chin, leaving him feel heavy-eyed and grimy. Listening to the lap of waves against the shore, he thought he recognized the faint scent of rose oil, the feeling of long hair against his fingertips. 

He opened his eyes and-- yes, the stiff lines of the stays beneath her dress, her skirts pooled around her where she knelt. Alma had come, somehow, had held him and kept him from falling apart. He could not imagine her travelling so far, alone, nor how she managed to find him, but he was grateful for it, to the point that tears stung his eyes again. 

Ramza lifted his head, his heart full of love for his sister, and looked instead into the face of Ovelia Atkascha. 

“It comes upon those who have witnessed tragedy, sometimes,” Ovelia said as Ramza struggled to find words to express his horror and abject apologies. “It makes you no less of a man.”

“Princess Ovelia-- your Highness-- I--”

“Mustadio mentioned to Lady Agrias that you had been acting strangely. I had heard him firing his weapon, earlier, and wanted to see if you were all right.” Ovelia laid her hands in her lap. “Considering all that you had been through.”

Ramza swallowed. “What I had been through, your Highness?”

“At Fort Ziekden, I mean.”

Ramza tried to smile. “Your Highness, my family name is Lugria, I am but a sellsword. I was raised in--”

Ovelia drew herself up straighter. “You think to question me? As Princess and heir to the throne I spent hours learning the names and devices of each noble house, including the Beoulves. Your sister Alma was a great help with that. Beside that, Ser Barnabeth Beoulve came occasionally to see his daughter, before he fell ill, and his blood obviously runs strong in you. Both in your looks and in your deeds,” she added, a little more gently.

Ramza bowed his head. “My deepest apologies, Princess--”

“Think nothing of it. I may not understand much of politics, nor all of your reasons for cutting ties to your family, but I am grateful to you for your help. And I am glad that I was able to offer you some help in kind, small though it may be.”

“I don’t know what would have become of me if you hadn’t arrived,” Ramza said honestly. 

Ovelia shook her head. “I think you would have been strong enough to overcome it, in time. But such things are always easier with someone to help steady you.” She stood up, bending to shake the sand from her skirts. “We ought to return to the others. As it is, I am sure Agrias will think we had some tryst out here by the lake. She can be very protective,” she smiled.

Ramza felt his face heating. “O-of course.” He got to his feet, then offered Ovelia his arm to lead her back toward camp. Distantly, he could hear Agrias calling, and, beneath that, a soft ringing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I didn't tag Ovelia in this, I didn't want to ruin the surprise ;) I banged this out on an off day after thinking about what kinds of things might trigger Ramza, especially after what happens at the end of chapter one. I also included my personal headcanon that Ramza suffers from partial deafness/tinnitus as a result of being so close to the explosion at Ziekden.
> 
> Special thanks to Atramento for beta reading!
> 
> You can check out my extremely problematic Twitter or help support me with a ko-fi by visiting jaydeefaire.carrd.co.


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